


Freedom Song

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars: Bloodline - Claudia Gray
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reunions, Twenty Years Later, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8971075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: "Senator Organa," he wheezed. "It's been quite a while."She was older now; the length of his captivity woefully apparent as he beheld her age—her dark hair now matted with slivers of silver, the wrinkles that dusted her face. She had a certain classical beauty nonetheless; the sort of austere elegance that befit a heir to a core-world crown. "Sure has," she said; her eyes were wet, and he saw her dab at them with her sleeve; not exactly princess-like behavior, but in these conditions they could both let it slide. "You look like shit, Casterfo."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



Ransolm Casterfo woke, not for the first time, to the sound of shouting. His tongue darted out, stinging his dry lips, as he pondered who it was this time. With the Republic strangely silent, his jailers on Riesa had little to do but torture those of them waiting for death.

Like Ransolm.

He had been surprised that the axe had not fallen upon him sooner; in his bleaker moments, he thought it might be a blessing if it had. He had lost track of how much time he had spent down in the darkest dungeons of Riesa. 

He saw movement at the edge of his cell door, and watched through the small hole in the doorway as a woman—bright, young, with black hair that shined like the sun—held up a blaster. It went off at what felt like light-speed, the noise deafening in a hole that had been filled with little other than distant screams and silence. His hand tightened on the straw cot—was she friend or foe? Had she finally come to kill them all? 

Ransolm heard a heavy thump on the ground, the sound of yet another death in a place that had seen too many. But perhaps this was different—perhaps this had been a guard, rather than a prisoner. 

He could hope anyway.

The woman turned toward him; her eyes were curiously kind, and she brought her finger up to her lips. He swallowed and nodded. 

He watched as she left him, heard what sounded like dangling keys being ripped off a belt; there was another skirmish, the noise of feet moving astonishingly close - then another blaster bolt rang out and then, that room, too, was silent. 

Ransolm swallowed and wondered when it would be his turn. He felt ready for it, and was completely at peace—rather than terror—when the strange woman came back into view. 

His heart \beat faster as he heard the sound of a key being turned into a lock. The woman swung open the door, and Ransolm squinted up at her, the light from the dingy hallway almost unfathomably bright.

"Hi!" The woman said, her voice far too upbeat for her surroundings. "I'm Jessica. We're going to get you out of here."

Ransolm blinked. Freedom? Had he been given his freedom? Had the Princess finally come through with proof against the senatorial trickery that had doomed him here? He thought of Riesa, of her trees and forests, and his heart ached. He had not seen anything but this hellish circle for twenty years. 

Ransolm heard more boots coming down the hallway. Hard ones, military issue. He tried to sound a warning, to tell her to run, but his dry throat left his words as little more than a whisper. Still, he tried.

"Run!" He whispered. "Run!"

If she heard him, she ignored it. She turned away from him as he heard a door further down the hall slam open; the heavy metal door marking the division between general population and death row. 

"General! He's here!" Jessica shouted. 

"Still alive?" Another woman's voice rang out, this one deeper and more authoritarian. Ransolm turned his head toward it instinctively; it sounded suspiciously like Leia, but he could not imagine that she...

Several other soldiers stormed into his cell, with a medic in tow. The medic took one look at him and muttered a grumbling curse, before cracking open his med kit and immediately pulling out a hypo. "Ransolm?" He asked.

Struck dumb, he could only nod. 

The young man primed the hypo. "I'm gonna give you this to try to stabilize you until we can get back on the ship, alright? Oh, and—my name is Finn." 

"Okay," he said, his voice almost unrecognizable. He would have offered more, but his throat burned with the effort and Finn did not press him for details, instead gently grabbing a hold of his arm and injecting him with hypo's medicine.

Another soldier followed the medic through the door; Ransolm heard the sound of a blaster being drawn and looked up, startled. 

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," The dark haired man said. The man made a show of showing him that he was adjusting the settings to cut through his chains. With shaking hands, he held up the chains, but they were both distracted by the last member of the party entering the room. 

"Perimeter’s secure," she said. He looked up. There was no mistaking her. 

"Senator Organa," he wheezed. "It's been quite a while."

She was older now; the length of his captivity woefully appearance as he beheld her age—her dark hair now matted with slivers of silver, the wrinkles that dusted her face. She had a certain classical beauty nonetheless; the sort of austere elegance that befit a heir to a core-world crown. 

"Sure has," she said; her eyes were wet, and he saw her dab at them with her sleeve; not exactly princess-like behavior, but in these conditions they could both let it slide. "You look like shit, Casterfo." 

Ransolm Casterfo laughed for the first time in a decade, his throat painfully constricting. How long had he dreamed of seeing her again? His memories and regrets and dreams had faded into one overwhelming emotion. He felt tears sliding down his cheeks into his matted beard. He tried to open his mouth, to say thank you, but she shook her head. 

She grabbed the torch from one of the solders and, effortlessly, cut the bonds of his chains free.

"Sorry it took so long." She said as Ransolm Casterfo stood for the first time in days, his bones weary from the effort of it. 

"You're right on time," he whispered as she grabbed his shoulder and let him into the bright Riesan sunlight. He felt almost blinded by it, and squinted involuntarily.

In the light, however, he did not miss the way she smiled at him for a moment before they continued on.

* * * 

"My stars!" Threepio said, fussing around him as a one-bee med-droid and Finn worked on repairing the signs of his captivity. The droid's first response had been to pull out a saline solution to help him regain hydration. Finn had left to procure time in a sonic shower, then returned with a bundle of towels and was waiting patiently to help him down to the bathing area. A glass of water was chucked in his direction by the one-bee, and he drank it lustily. 

"Glad You're looking better already," Finn said, smiling. Ransolm, startled by the man's approach - he had not heard him come in - jerked his head forward in surprise. 

The one-bee and Threepio both made alarmed noises, the one-bee checking his arm to make sure he had not chucked out the injection in his arm, but it had remained. He couldn't apologize for being startled though; he had been in that pit too long. But then again, he imagined Leia had had a very difficult time even convincing the Republic that he needed rescuing at all.

Finn looked a bit guilty, staring down at his feet as the one-bee continued to inspect him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I'm just relieved you're stable. We're short on medics, and I was nervous about..." Finn licked his lips. "Well, critical...situations." "You did fine," he said, waving a hand. This produced several more irritated beeps from one-bee. "New to the Republic Medicore?" "I suppose you could call it that," he said, looking up at him thoughtfully. "I got knocked into a coma. Seems like the least I could do was train to help other people who get injured Medics are what we've got the least of in the Res-in the uh, core."

He relaxed a bit. Finn was a nice man, and he was sure the basic work done by him and the one-bee would be sufficient to stabilize him long enough to reach Hosnian Prime. He was worried, though, about the state of the Republic. So few doctors suggested something quite bleak, indeed, and he didn't want to think of how badly she must be languishing. He was suddenly well aware of the last twenty years—had the boy before him even been born when last he'd been under ship light? He doubted it.

"Thank you," he said. "I appreciate your efforts. Your training must be going well." 

The one-bee beeped at him, a hand-scanner scanning him. He turned toward it and saw the saline bag was empty.

"HYDRATION STABLE," the one-bee reported, it's information flashing across its screen. 

"Alright," Finn said, showing him a small smile. "Ready for a shower?"

"Unbelievably ready," Ransolm said; he stumbled a bit getting out of the chair, but Finn held his arm with kindness, and made sure he made it to the shower.

It wasn't until Finn had left, the water ( _real_ water, sweet, blessed water, so much better than a sonic) coursing down him in grimy trails, that it occurred to him that the soldiers had referred to Leia as General rather than Senator, not once -- but twice. 

* * * 

He felt much better since he had been groomed. Once Finn had walked him back to the one-bee's office, he found one-bee waiting with a lather and a sharp hypo-blade razor. He did not protest the cutting of his long, matted beard, not the buzzing off of the hair that now cascaded down his back. Once the one-bee had done their work, it held up a mirror.

Ransolm stared into it. His face, like Leia's, had aged—far craggier than he had once been, the cheekbones gaunt, the skin ashen and pallid from many years without the sun. It had aged them all, this war, aged them until there was little left but crags and valleys, a face that illustrated nothing so much as regret.

"Looking a bit better, there," Leia—Senator, General or both, he was not sure—was at the door. Her voice was smokier now, raspier than it had been when last he'd seen her. 

"You're kind of to say, but, personally..." Ransolm winced. 

"Maybe this will help." Threepio handed her a large package, which she gave to him. 

"I hardly deserve a present after what I did for you."

"Maybe not, but I want you to have it anyway." 

His fingers tingled as he carefully unfolded the beautiful paper;Threepio fussed over it, picking up the edges of paper and ribbon as soon as he'd carefully removed them. Whatever was inside the package made contact with his fingers; it was soft, warm.

His stomach flipped as he pulled the paper away, a brilliant green cloak unfurling near his fingers.

"I definitively do _not_ deserve this," he breathed. 

"Stop saying that." She sat in a chair in the med-center. "Threepio, would you get us some tea, please?"

Threepio nodded, toddling out of the room, and they were alone.

"Thank you." He said, softly. "This is a marvelous gift. And to have given me this and my freedom in one day -- "

"I realize it might be overwhelming, but hold onto your butt." She pressed a hand to her head. "I've got a favor to ask of you that will more than even the scales."

"Anything." He clasped the cloak around his shoulders; it was heavy, warm, and reassuring. "Though we do not always agree on politics, I would follow you anywhere."

"Thanks, but I'd rather you didn't make any promises, not until I tell you what's going on." She turned away from him, moving toward a small chest. He was surprised when she opened it and grabbed a decanter of what could only be Port in a Storm; more surprised still when she pulled two chilled glasses from it and poured a shot in both. She handed him the amber liquid, and he stared at it, surprised.

He had not known the Princess/Senator/General, or whatever title she chose to call herself at this given moment, to be a drinker

"Take it before Threepio comes back and starts lecturing us about proper ceremonial form," she said, suddenly, and when he hesitated, she looked kindly at him, a soft smile on her lips. "You'll need it. And you might want to sit down, kid."

"I am hardly a child, Sen-Leia. You'll find I'm in my fifty-second year now," he said, before quaffing the drink. He had only been in his thirties when he had gone underground. Now the last dregs of his youth had been wasted; he winced, and it was from more than the hard liquor burning his throat.

“There's no way to sugar-coat this,” Leia said, her eyes boring into his. “The Republic is gone.”

“The Republic? Gone?” His lips twitched; the thought of it seemed unthinkable. “But surely…?” He said, then, thinking better of it, stopped. “The Centrists and Populists have dissolved the senate?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Your Centrist friends were long gone before Hosnian Prime blew up, I'm afraid.”

“Hosnian Prime is...gone?” He took a deep sigh he had not known he had hiding in him, his breath suddenly ragged. The thought of it being gone – the new capital burning with life, the species of so many home worlds coming together – unmoored him. He shivered and collapsed backward into Leia's waiting chair, his head in his hands.

“How?” He managed to spit out, though it came choked.

“The First Order – a fascist terrorist organization organized out of the flames of the Centrists – build a new super-weapon.”

“A new death star?” 

“Worse.” She poured herself a second finger of whiskey, devoured it in one gulp. And then, to his horror, she told him.

* * * 

They were both stone-sober by the time Threepio came back with tea. Port in the Storm was a potent drink, but with the news Leia was telling him, it was welcome. He grabbed at his mug unsteadily; his fingers curling around the cup but his strength gone. Leia's eyes flickered downwards toward his hands, a flash of concern on her face for just a moment before her normal mask fell back into place.

“I'm sorry,” Leia said, shaking her head as she sipped at the tea. “I wish I had better news.”

“I cannot complain,” he said, making to bring the cup to his lips without spilling. “It is a terrible time, but if anyone can lead us through it – “

“To be frank, that's why I need you.” She looked deep into him, saw all of him, he thought. He reflexively stood up straighter. “I'm getting older. I need to know that there will be someone else who can handle this, someone else who will stand up to them… I would have rescued you regardless, but...I was very glad to find you when I did.”

“Leia,” he said, taken aback. How long had he thought of her, her promise that he would have been at her side in the Rebellion had he been born early enough to take part in the princess's great adventures? He had been born in the wrong time, the wrong place, and yet… Here was the hero, her hand outstretched. “I would be honored to fight with you. You have no need to ask.”

He reached out, grabbing her hand and squeezing her fingers. Her hands were warm, her hands reflexively squeezed his own, and he felt an odd ebbing heat flowing through his body. Before he could question himself too hard, he leaned forward, his hand clasping her chin.

The Princess stared deep into him, her large brown eyes still hauntingly beautiful.

“Leia,” he said softly. “I have spent twenty years imagining fighting with you. It has been my one comfort...to know that you would have - “

She covered the distance between them, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. The flowing feeling multiplied, his body tingling with pleasure and surprise as she grabbed him and held on tight, her lips gone in seconds but the imprint of them still clear.

“Come on,” she said, her voice a bit rougher than normal. “We've got work to do.”

“Of course,” he said, and followed.


End file.
